Problems of a Fat Swordsman
by Yaji's Girl
Summary: A series of one-shots about all of the problems that Yajirobe faces in his difficult life.
1. Authorities

**This will be a series of one-shots about the problems a certain man has to face throughout his life, that man being Yajirobe. I'm writing this mainly to get back into this writing style before I start pounding out chapters of _Finding Rubble from Rubies _again, so fans of that story, just wait a little longer. It's hard to jump back in!**

**Problem One: Authorities**

Yajirobe was hungry. There was no denying such a crucial fact, not when his monstrous stomach groaned so loudly that he was certain the wolves in the distance were howling along with it. He glanced up to the dark sky, wondering just how much longer it would take to reach the nearest town. He could have simply stopped along the side of the road and caught one of those howling wolves, tossing him over a fire and having him for a midnight snack. But that was too much work, and Yajirobe couldn't find the energy to work. Going to a store was far easier, and as he patted the familiar, woven texture of the bag he usually had tied around his waist, he was disappointed. No, there was not one Senzu Bean to suppress his appetite until he got to town.

He pressed a little harder on the gas pedal, the engine of the vehicle spluttering in exhaustion. It was an older model, one that even had wheels, something that he wasn't used to anymore. It upset his stomach a little to go across this rocky road, having not been repaved in years due to the fact that most people were sensible enough to have hovercrafts. But no, the person who Yajirobe had stolen this particular car from must have been an old-timer. He had found it outside of a general store in the last town he was in, if that further hinted to what type of person might have previously owned it.

And though he wasn't proud of it, this car was now his. He had stripped it of its license plate and all, certain that he would be able to reach the next town before getting caught. Unfortunately, such didn't happen.

As he cruised a little further down this long stretch of road, he heard the engine wheeze a last time, some of the mechanics of the vehicle giving a last cough before the thing stopped altogether. This left Yajirobe simply sitting there, his lips pressed in irritation as he kept his chubby hands clenched on to the steering wheel. He felt the car sink slightly with his weight, and he knew what must have happened. And surely enough, as he checked the dashboard of this old vehicle, he saw that the air pressure gauge showed one of his tires to be empty. He scowled.

Flat tire.

He sat there and listened to his stomach growl. His eyes were shut as a breeze passed by, lifting the ends of his shaggy, black hair with it. But he didn't even brush it back in place, didn't even so much as flinch. In the distance, there was a whirring police siren. It was coming closer and closer, becoming louder and louder. And finally, with Yajirobe opening his eyes and looking straight ahead of him at the road that stretched out beyond the horizon, he felt the presence of an approaching man and a hovercraft. He clenched his teeth as another car, this one floating, pulled up to his own. And it was a characteristic blue with white stripes painted down it, red lights still flashing through the night's darkness even as the siren stopped.

Yajirobe was annoyed, if his stomach was a testament to that. It gave out an unceremoniously loud gurgle before Yajirobe even bothered to turn his head and face the officer to his left. The officer looked back at him as he lifted those nifty dark sunglasses off of his thin face and perched them precariously on top of his white helmet. But Yajirobe was unimpressed, this police officer looking just as unsuspecting as the rest of his warrior-like capabilities.

The fat samurai simply stared at the officer, who had stepped out of his car and had begun rambling on about the usual things he heard whenever he was pulled over. Things about no license plate, lack of identification, stripped vehicle, and so on. And though Yajirobe was in no mood to hear of such things, he rested his flabby arm on the leather interior of the car where the window was rolled down, as he always kept it. The tall, lanky officer was continuing on and on, going so far as to stick his crooked neck into the car, pushing the boundaries of Yajirobe's personal space. But the swordsman continued ignoring him with a certain coolness, allowing thoughts of how hungry he was to pervade his mind instead as his gaze wondered. Had he not stolen a car with wheels and then gotten a flat tire and then gotten pulled over by a cop, perhaps he would have been sitting down in some diner, involving a good four-course meal. Of course, this was Yajirobe. With his lucky, he was just glad that it hadn't begun raining.

The skies were very clear that moonless night, but the wolves kept baying in the background. It was finally when Yajirobe thought the officer had stopped with the usual speech that he slid across the front seat, plopping down in the passenger's seat to the officer's surprise. Then he opened the door and got out, standing up and patting his traditional warrior's robe down with care. He placed a cautious hand to the hilt of his katana, hanging dutifully at his side, and walked around the car. Then, with the thin police officer leering at him suspiciously, he said, "Hey! C'mere."

It wasn't a threat, but the officer still had his hand cautiously on the butt of his gun hanging in a holster around his waist. He stepped closer to the fat samurai, far shorter than he was, but also far stockier. He didn't even notice the sword at Yajirobe's side, and so he merely edged cautiously towards him. But to his misfortune, he had gotten within Yajirobe's range as he proclaimed, "I'm hungry."

"I d-" But before the cop could even get two words out, Yajirobe had knocked him down with a skillful punch to the head. He peered down for a moment at the police officer, thinking it to be curious that each police officer was taken down so easily. But they all looked the same after having done this so many times, and so the body didn't really intrigue him for very long. He left the officer unconscious, certain that somebody would find the fainted man in the morning. But as of now, Yajirobe simply hopped into the officer's car, not even bothering with the license plate. He turned the key that was in the ignition, slammed the door shut, and allowed the car to levitate off of the ground by a foot or so. He slammed down quickly on the gas pedal so as to get to his destination in record timing, abandoning the officer and the car.

And Korin always asked how he got away with stealing vehicles without dealing with the cops.


	2. Flight

**I'll be honest; it took a little while for me to realize what the name of the little Indian boy, Upa, was. For some reason, I had always called him Ponto. Anyways, enjoy this little story! The one-shots don't take place in any particular order, and if they take place in a certain part of the series, I'll be sure to specify.**

**Problem Two: Flight**

It was with his pudgy elbows hanging over the railing wrapped around Korin Tower and his round cheeks lowered into his arms that Yajirobe sighed. He stared out towards the reaches of the low-lying clouds surrounding the tower, all tinted yellow with the setting sun. The sky itself was pink, dyed by those final touches of the sunlight's golden tips. This was one sight that Yajirobe loved, even though it wasn't food. Of course, he did imagine the clouds to be swirled creations of his favorite desserts from time to time, especially when he had been eating Senzu Beans for far too long, but that was on rare occasion. No, even when these clouds just looked like clouds, Yajirobe still loved watching them.

His body jerked suddenly, though, as he felt a wooden staff hit his fat back. He straightened up and scowled, turning around to see a very impatient, white cat standing behind him and crossing his arms impatiently. Then he asked quite testily, "Did you plant the Senzu Beans I asked you to, Yajirobe?"

"No," the samurai abruptly replied, leaning back against the railing. He was not in the mood to deal with Korin, not after being forced to climb up the tower earlier, having had no means of transportation to get back up to the top. No, something had happened to his last Dynocap car - it had been stolen when he had left it out, having hunted down some wild animal. And Yajirobe had been left stranded in the middle of nowhere, trudging his way back to the base of Korin Tower that morning.

He had already had a run-in with that Indian boy, Tupi, and his father earlier that week, what with them telling him that he shouldn't be bringing technology around the the Sacred Land of Korin. They had decided to criticize him on the matters of pollution and other such things. And Yajirobe had simply argued that they were talking about him destroying the environment when they didn't even have proper plumbing, something that they couldn't argue about. But now, even though he didn't even have a car with him, they had decided to nag him about the dangers of technology. Even Yajirobe didn't dare to stand up to the massive, dark man, though there were a few suppressed, choice words that Yajirobe had coursing through his mind throughout this entire interrogation. No, he didn't enjoy that little Ponto fellow and his father's presence one bit, not at all. But Korin wouldn't have them banished, for some reason.

So it had been bad enough to drag himself back to Korin Tower and deal with that runt, Oompa, and his father, but he was also faced with the task of climbing up Korin Tower. And it had taken up a good part of his day, leaving him in a rather foul mood by the time he reached the top. Though to his fortune, Korin was napping on one of the cots inside, leaving Yajirobe some time to calm down, just surveying the expansive view about him. He was still angry, though, from his little excursion earlier. But Korin wouldn't put up with it, snapping, "Well, you'd better get on it, or there'll be no Senzu Beans for you to chow down on."

Yajirobe gave the cat a nasty grimace, stuck in between the decision of climbing back down to the ground level and dealing with that Indian boy, Chumpi, and his father again or simply staying put with starving. But his stomach betrayed him as he was about to make his decision, giving a rather loud rumble, which left him to simply growl, "I'm goin', I'm goin'." And with that, the fat man turned around with a dissatisfied expression on his face.

He placed his large hands on the railing, looking down over it and gulping. He didn't want to climb down, and he knew that this whole matter would be so much easier if he could simply drift down like all of the other Z Fighters, landing gracefully on his feet. Yajirobe had never bothered with learning to control his ki, able to use this as an excuse to get out of battles and training sessions. But now the lazy warrior wished that he had some way of getting down more easily without a car, as he would only have to climb back up again, probably not reaching the top again until the next day's sunset. He glared down at the bag of Senzu Beans at his waist, wishing that they weren't such a trouble to mess with. It was no wonder they were so rare, considering Korin was too lazy to go down the tower himself to plant them.

Before he pulled himself over the edge of the railing and hug the tower within his large arms to begin the tedious descent, he spun back around to Korin and grunted, "Don't you have something I can use to get down faster? Like a cloud?" He had seen Goku ride around on that Nimbus a lot as a kid, and though Korin insisted that he couldn't make one fitting for Yajirobe's tainted soul, he thought the cat was probably just holding back in an attempt to make him suffer.

"If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times," the cat only huffed, moving his cane in one swift movement to knock against Yajirobe's hollow head. "You must be pure of heart to use a regular Nimbus, and I already gave my only Dark Nimbus away to Mercenary Tao years ago. There's nothing I can do, you lazy oaf." Korin leered as he heard Yajirobe mumble a few insults to his family and all of his ancestral cats. And an idea suddenly formulated in the cat's mind.

Korin's tone became far softer as he said, "Actually, there is something I can do to help you get down a little quicker." Yajirobe glared at him suspiciously, but he followed Korin's finger as he pointed out to the horizon, demanding, "Look out there. Squint your eyes really hard, and I think you might see it."

Yajirobe leaned over the railing of the tower and stretched his flabby neck out, his large head sticking out as far as possible as he mumbled, "I don't see any-"

But the samurai suddenly lost his voice as he fell over the side of Korin Tower, all thanks to a shove at his rear end by a small, white cat. And Korin only chuckled darkly, crouching over the railing and waving his wooden staff as a farewell. "Bye, Yajirobe!" he yelled towards the plummeting figure, hoping that the man wouldn't get too beat up after such a fall. He had tumbled off the tower before, though Korin wasn't sure how many times it would take before the samurai broke. He needed Yajirobe to return in one piece to have somebody to teach, and Korin thought that his first lesson would be on laziness. And then maybe one on flight.

Korin smirked to himself and snickered deviously as he strolled back across the landing, his staff clanking along the way. Certainly, yes, Yajirobe wouldn't return for another half a day at least. That gave the cat plenty of time to come up with new ways to torture the man.


	3. Super Heroes

**I was watching one of the movies (I think the first Cooler one?) for the first time, and I cracked up when Yajirobe started referring to himself as the Bean Daddy. What the heck is a Bean Daddy? Anyways, this one takes place some time after the Buu Saga. Enjoy!**

**Problem Three: Super Heroes**

Yajirobe was slumped down on the tiled floors of Kami's Lookout, waiting in the middle of the clearing for something to do. Life had become boring, he noted as he pulled his red scarf further up his face, a sudden chill having passed. He shivered slightly, his hands resting in his lap as if expecting something to happen in that uneventful life he led. He could sense Dende staring at him curiously from behind the tall palm trees that stood in lines down the expansive platform, and it had been more than once that Mr. Popo had asked him to move so that he could get some cleaning done. But he just wanted something to do that day, being too exhausted to get in his capsule car and drive off somewhere. No, he was content with just sitting there, munching on an occasional Senzu Bean, but he wanted some company. The genie didn't really speak, and the Namekian was too afraid to.

As if to answer his prayers, Yajirobe lilted his head upwards to see a speck in the distance. He squinted his aging eyes suspiciously but was too fatigued to get up. He simply watched the approaching figure from this sitting position, recognizing it as it came in closer proximity. It was that stupid Gohan kid wearing that stupid outfit of his, with the green tunic and the black spandex and the dorky helmet and the wretched, red cape. Nobody could pull off red besides Yajirobe, a fact that he was certain everybody acknowledged by the way they looked in disgust at the young man whenever he appeared incognito.

Gohan, however, seemed to be oblivious to his friends and all of their silent criticisms, seeing as he hadn't even given consideration to changing his outfit. He landed gracefully before the sitting samurai with his gloves furled into fists and resting on his hips. Then, in that stupid voice of his with his cape rippling in the wind and his black visor giving off a sheen from the sunlight, he said, "Hello, Yajirobe! So good to see a faithful citizen spending his time outdoors, getting reacquainted with nature!" He raised his white glove to his helmet in salute before pulling the whole helmet off, tucking it under his arm and allowing his messy, helmet-hair to be caught along with the wind.

"Nice outfit," Yajirobe sneered sarcastically, reaching down into his woven bag for another Senzu Bean. And he looked back up after popping it in his mouth, looking up at Gohan, who was simply glowing with this compliment.

"Why thank you, fellow citizen," he said, not dropping the supercilious tone in his voice. He chuckled deeply as he brushed some of the stray hairs back into place, only to have a sudden breath of wind make that particular tuft flop back out of place. But he took no notice as he continued, "Have you seen Piccolo around here, by any chance?" He began to take large strides past the overweight warrior, as if expecting the Namekian to pop out from behind one of those thin palm trees, the ones that only that stick Dende could manage to hide behind. But Yajirobe gave a firm shake of the head, finally finding the energy to push himself off of the ground.

Yajirobe grunted after getting himself on his sandals, letting out a small huff. Then, as he readjusted the bag hanging around his waist and pressed his tiny moustache back down against his upper lip, he groaned, "Haven't seen him around all morning."

Gohan turned back around, dropping the superior air for a second as he allowed a small pout of discontent to show on his face. He quickly got over his mentor's absence, however, and held himself in a heroic manner once more as he laughed, "Well, that's certainly okay. The Great Saiyaman shall simply have to go out and find him!" And he very quickly jammed the orange helmet back on his head, twisting it slightly to fit properly on his shoulders. Then he ran towards the edge of the landing, as if prepared to get a running start to a spectacular leap through the air.

"Wait!" Yajirobe called a bit reluctantly, stopping Gohan in his tracks. Gohan simply peered at him curiously through his visor, watching as Yajirobe approached him in that ridiculous, red scarf of his. Everybody knew that the Great Saiyman was the only one able to pull of the color red, but he allowed that thought to slip from his mind as Yajirobe asked, "Don't you wanna stay here? I'm bored."

And even his semi-generous offer surprised the demi-Saiyan. It took him a second to recompose himself, astounded that Yajirobe actually wanted to spend time with him, before he chortled deeply and puffed his chest out proudly. "Perhaps next time, fellow citizen. The Great Saiyaman has places to go, Namekians to see." And though it was unseen through the dark visor, he still gave Yajirobe a knowing wink before running off of the edge and soaring towards the distance.

Yajirobe groaned, managing to find the energy to kick at the ground. He gritted his teeth and watched the retreating figure disappear in the blue, cloudless sky. He could be a better super hero than that moron, he knew. In fact, Yajirobe could become the best super hero the world had ever known, had he not chosen to be so lazy. His name could make it into headlines, just like the idiotic Saiyaman's. He could be known as SamuGuy, or the Doughnut Dunker, or perhaps even the Bean Daddy.

What exactly was a Bean Daddy? Yajirobe couldn't be certain, and he never would find out. Instead of going on to become a great super hero and finding out if he could ever aspire to such heights as those of the stupid Saiyaman's, he decided to just plop down in the middle of Kami's Lookout, waiting for something to do. He was still bored.


	4. Expenses

**This is probably as long as these one-shots will be, but I hope you enjoy! I love picking on Yajirobe almost as much as Krillin does.**

**Problem Four: Expenses**

With a satisfied lick of the lips, Yajirobe set a small, empty bowl aside, placing it by the other nine that he had already gone through. He lowered the chopsticks in his hand in acknowledgment of the fact that he had finally been filled after a tasty, yet brief, meal. He rubbed his mouth with his forearm, forcing any leftover grains of rice to fall into his lap, and then rested his hand on his rotund belly. It had been a good meal, most certainly, something quite rare for the swordsman.

It had been months since the man had taken the privilege of eating at a table. Lately, he had either been munching on Senzu Beans or taking down wild monsters, both of which had managed to ease his hunger, but nether one enough to please him. He had been craving real food lately. Certainly, he could easily mooch off of his so-called friends, but there were a variety of obstacles he faced in doing so. He couldn't stroll into the large, yellow Capsule Corporation building and demand a meal with that Saiyan Vegeta still there, obviously still longing for the samurai's blood for cutting his tail off all of those years back. He could theoretically stop by Goku's place on Mt. Paozu, but his wife was too much to deal with, always making a fuss about how much cleaning there was to do and so on. And the only other place he could imagine visiting was the Kame House, but he had had enough of Master Roshi and his crazy antics. Plus, that ungrateful, little Krillin fellow also lived there, being a force to be reckoned with. There wasn't one pleasant conversation that Yajirobe had ever enjoyed having with that midget, either side getting their blood boiling with insults of how the other was completely useless.

And thus, Yajirobe didn't enjoy real food very often. But he had managed to nab enough money over time from the little emergency cache that Korin kept in the tower, being too lazy to go off and earn his own money. And after accumulating enough of his small reward for putting up with the white cat, Yajirobe had stopped at the first restaurant in the first town he could find while driving his stolen vehicle, so eager to get started with this dinner. He had only quickly skimmed over the menu after squeezing himself into a booth, therefore not realizing just how little his money would get him. In Yajirobe's world of having not used money in so long, it had no meaning. Money was simply money.

It wasn't a particularly fancy restaurant, though it was nice and clean. His waitress set the receipt down on the table, quickly escaping with a dirty glance back at the fat man and all of his rude mannerisms. But Yajirobe paid her no mind as he reached forth and picked the thin slip of paper up in his grubby fingers. He stared at it, registering the number in his mind. It called for 1600 Zeni to be paid, and Yajirobe immediately felt his forehead become sweaty. He wasn't certain of how much he had managed to snatch from the cat, but he didn't remember it being quite that much.

He reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out the crinkled bills he had stuffed in there. He spread them out across the table, biting his lower lip nervously. He only had 1000 Zeni, from the looks of it. This wasn't enough to pay for his meal.

He considered just leaving and hoping that nobody would notice, and if things became ugly, he could pull out his katana. But before he even had a chance to slide out of the booth he had been lodged in, his waitress returned, a sour expression on her face as she placed a hand to her hip. "Are you ready to pay, mister?" she inquired impatiently, obviously wanting to get him out of the restaurant as he had scared away several potential customers with his atrocious table manners.

"Urm..." Yajirobe mumbled incoherently with an unexpected guilt seizing his consciousness. He slid the receipt and bills he had back across the table, the latter reeking of sweat from having been held against his chest for so long while building up his pile.

He grimaced as she wrinkled her small nose, looking down in distaste at the damp Zeni spread out on the table before snapping her head back up and glaring at him. And that look alone was enough to inform him that he had been caught as she said angrily, "You didn't pay the full bill! It specifically says sixteen-hundred Zeni right here, and you only gave me a thousand!"

Before he could defend himself, however, it seemed as though the manager had caught wind of these dealings. He made his way across the room in too graceful a manner with too large a grin, placing his hands cautiously on the waitress' shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. And it was only after he felt her loosen up that he dared ask in a loud, cheerful voice, "You don't have enough money to pay for your meal, sir?" But before Yajirobe could utter so much as a sound, he found the manager with his palms flat on the table, his gaudy, purple tie hanging down a little as he offered, "We have a policy here that if somebody can't pay for their meal, they may take our Ten-Bowl Challenge!"

These last words were amplified, drawing the attention of a few customers with a round of 'ooh's and 'ah's. Yajirobe only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Now, the only rule is that you have to eat ten bowls of sticky rice in addition to whatever you've already eaten! And if you do, we'll gladly cut the bill in half!" This man was far too excited for Yajirobe's tastes, and the samurai folded his flabby arms and glared at him. He didn't even budge as the manager craned his neck further, getting far too close into his personal space, and asked, "Are you willing to try it? Because it's either that or washing dishes in the back."

Yajirobe was no fool. Food versus work? It was quite obvious which one he would choose. He brought his fist down upon the table and grunted, "I'll do the food challenge, definitely." Getting paid to eat was a dream job of his, but no; he got stuck babysitting a snarky cat at the top of a tall tower.

The manager's pearly whites shone once more as he retreated, the waitress following after glaring at Yajirobe once more. Yajirobe ignored her, though, and concentrated on the matter at hand. He was fairly full after having had ten bowls of rice. Could he really force down another ten? But this kind of doubt shamed him. He was Yajirobe. Of course he would be able to eat twenty bowls of rice. If not him, then who?

He watched as the manager came out with a silly grin, trying to balance five bowls of rice in each hand as he darted across the restaurant. He placed them in front of the fat man who was just brimming now with anticipation. It could be seen in the set frown on his face, deeply ingrained in his chubby cheeks. And his eyes were carefully roaming over the stack of bowls as the waitress helped to set them out, trying to not get too close to the disgusting warrior who also had the unfortunate stench of having never properly bathed. He licked his lips, his mind calculating whether he would be able to do this or not. By the size of even his stomach, it should have been impossible. But Yajirobe always had a way of shoveling food into his mouth, even in the face of the impossible.

He extended his hand and grabbed the chopsticks expertly, holding them in an tactful position as he decided just how to approach this meal. There were a few bored customers standing around, deciding that they might as well get some entertainment while they were here. And Yajirobe ignored them, knowing that he was only half way. Ten more bowls to go, ten more, and he would have a discounted meal.

The chopsticks were plunged into the first bowl, moving at such a speed that they were simply a blur as they came up to his mouth, his tongue out to catch the falling grains of rice. And he chewed so quickly that it was a wonder that he didn't bite his tongue with that precision that forced the mushy grain into the back of his throat. And this raising and lowering of the chopsticks continued on, rarely halting for Yajirobe's busy mouth to catch up. Sometimes he didn't even get to savor the taste of the rice, knowing that he needed to get this done with quickly before his stomach caught up with him.

He forced down bowl after bowl within only two minutes, much to the awe of the small crowd. The audience was looking far more excited now as they watched this man dive into his food, his favorite thing in the world. And he continued with this struggle, even as his stomach protested, threatening to push his whole meal out from whence it came. But he fought on, unwilling to give into the temptation to simply stop there. He was Yajirobe. He had to finish, because if there was one challenge that he refused to lose to, it was one pertaining food.

The last two bowls were where he faced the greatest difficulty. On that ninth bowl, really the nineteenth he had consumed that evening, his stomach was quickly bloating. But he forced himself to keep going, feeling rather queasy by the time he reached the bottom of that bowl. He winced, the rice in his stomach expanding beyond its limits, feeling almost as terribly as that time he had gone through a whole handful of Senzu Beans. But he pressed on, knowing that he had to succeed. If he didn't, he would lose his name in the food community. Gourmets around the country wouldn't fear the name that he was setting to establish for himself.

He released a shuddering breath as he stared at the pile of sticky, white rice in the last hand-sized bowl. He held it up to his eye-level and saw one little, innocent grain of rice perched on top, taunting him. It told him that he was a failure and that he would end up paying for the meal despite all of his fruitless attempts. He licked his lips, looking at it nervously, almost frightened by the prospect.

But he wouldn't allow one little grain of rice to push him around, to scare him. No, Yajirobe placed the bowl back down on the table and, after a last gulp, dug his chopsticks into the rice, breaking the undisturbed surface of the mound. This was war, most certainly, as he forced down bite after bite after bite, each one becoming smaller as his throat reluctantly moving them down. And it was finally when he finished that he shoved the bowl away from him and leaned back in the booth, listening to the cheers of, "Fat man! Fat man! Fat man!" He almost managed a smile, finally recognized for his talents. He looked out into the tiny crowd and saw the manager give him a thumbs-up, the waitress sulking in the background at his victory.

The manager pushed his way through the almost nonexistent crowd and clasped Yajirobe's hand within his own, exclaiming, "Congratulations! It isn't very often that we find somebody to take up the challenge, let alone to actually succeed! Your bill has been cut down to eight thousand Zeni!" And he felt the manager slide the two thousand Zeni of change into his loose grip. Then, as he pulled himself out of the booth after having been sandwiched between it and the table, he wavered on his feet unsteadily, the chanting still resounding through the restaurant. He had won. He had actually won.

He pushed his way through the few people who had gathered around him, waddling towards the door. Then after pushing it open, he fell over with this new weight, his stomach so bloated that he had trouble balancing. He landed on the concrete outside, too fat to get back to his feet.

Perhaps he hadn't won.


	5. Babies

**So Yajirobe isn't father material, but doesn't that really surprise anybody? I hope you enjoy this one. It takes place after the androids come and Yajirobe and Bulma flee to Capsule Corp., taken via the Gohan Express. *UPDATE* I realize that there's an error in canonicity in this fic, and that's Yajirobe not knowing who Trunks' father is. I apologize for this, but I don't think I'm going to change it.  
**

**Problem Five: Babies**

Yajirobe watched with disdain as the blue-haired woman tossed her child in the air and caught her airborne son once more, repeating this several times before finally cradling him in her arms again. And the purple-haired baby in his ridiculous blue bonnet, wearing Yajirobe's favorite, red scarf as a diaper, cooed and giggled innocently. That baby was anything but innocent, Yajirobe thought, clenching his teeth together as the baby glanced towards him, extending its chubby arms as the woman coddled it. The baby was disgusting, if anything.

He crossed his arms and wrinkled his nose, turning away from the pair of them. He glanced back as Bulma lay the kid on the changing table, stripping it of his red scarf and remarking, "Well, it looks like your lucky day, Yajirobe. It doesn't look like he had to go." And with one hand keeping the baby in place by pressing on his chest, she turned around the dangled the red fabric for Yajirobe to see and asked, "Do you want me to still wash it?"

He huffed, sneering as he looked at the thing. "Sure," he replied, unable to believe that he had actually been forced to give up his red scarf as a diaper. It was plain embarrassing, especially after having been taken from battle just to play the babysitter. And it wasn't being taken from battle that actually peeved him. It was more this whole baby thing. He'd never liked small infants very much in the few times he had come in contact with them. They were smelly, loud, and disgusting. And to have Yajirobe claim something too disgusting was quite a claim, coming from him.

Bulma nodded, picking the naked baby up again and shoving it into Yajirobe's arms, to his surprise. Yajirobe grimaced with disgust as she wadded the scarf up into a ball in her hands and said, "Just hold Trunks for a minute while I run this to the laundry room. I'll be right back."

And so Yajirobe waited, looking the thing over at arms' length. It laughed, displaying its healthy, pink gums with pride. It flailed its arms about and squirmed a little in the samurai's grasp, and the samurai couldn't help but feel rather uncomfortable. This little thing was revolting, really, as it chirped with delight. Anything this happy needed to be put down.

Yajirobe glanced the thing over once more, his eyes brought right back up to its face. It had large, blue eyes and strange, purple hair, and Yajirobe could only imagine who the father was. Whoever he was, though, he certainly wasn't very lucky to have had a kid with Bulma. He couldn't think of anybody more overpowering than that woman, except maybe for Goku's wife. But the purple hair kept catching the samurai offguard, not knowing anybody to have hair quite this color. Must have been somebody in Bulma's family, seeing as the Briefs family seemed to be a family of weirdos.

Not Yamcha, he thought, snorting a little at that thought. No, if Yamcha had a kid, he'd imagined it to have that same scar on its face as that idiot. But if not Yamcha, then who? As far as Yajirobe knew, the baseball player was the only man that the blue-haired woman had ever taken a liking to. And as the baby giggled happily once more, Yajirobe wondered briefly if this might have been Goku's kid, that man being the only other thing he had ever seen with such a happy, carefree disposition. That thought, however, was quickly refuted. There was no way that this was Goku's kid, seeing as he was still wondering just how even Gohan had ever been brought into existence. That man wasn't one to go around with women, unmarried or married, for that matter.

But there was nobody else. The cheeks of this little kid were too fat for his features to be distinguishable, to be pinned to any man. There was a list he could go through, from Tien to Master Roshi, but none of them were likely fathers. He watched with mild interest as the little kid kicked through the air happily, going so far as to grab Yajirobe by his wrists. And Yajirobe could only flinch slightly with surprise as he found its grip to be strong, especially at that age. Yajirobe frowned, thinking it to be a fighter. But he would have to see the kid's appetite before he could judge further.

As the baby dangled in his loose grip, Yajirobe begrudgingly admitted to himself that it wasn't so bad. "Kinda cute," Yajirobe grunted as the baby squirmed in his grip, waving its arms about wildly.

Or at least it was cute until he looked down after feeling a sudden warmth on his stomach. And there it was, a cascade of yellow urine hitting him, the baby laughing all the while. Yajirobe scowled, wishing that the woman would just come back and take her son back. It wasn't that cute.


	6. Baseball

**I've always kind of wondered about Yamcha and his curious baseball career, but I suppose the details don't matter. Enjoy this story and Yajirobe's problem with baseball, the players more specifically being the source of his annoyance. As for where this fits on the timeline, I'd say right before DBZ.**

**Problem Six: Baseball**

The skies were blue and cloudless that day when the local professional baseball team, the Titans, had gone out to practice. They worked on their swings and throws, catches and slides, all in an attempt to prepare for the upcoming season. And Yamcha was in the midst of them all, tossing the leather baseball up into the air and catching it in that same hand, smirking as he stuffed it into his pant pocket. He glanced towards the way of the dugout as he remembered that there was one very bored samurai warrior dozing off in there after Yamcha had persuaded him to come. But he tore his eyes away as another teammate approached him, persuading him to join their mock game. And he nodded, wiping his forehead as he jostled to the center of the field. It sure was hot outside.

The team stood in the diamond nestled in one corner of their stadium. Yamcha's hair was tied back with a band in an attempt to keep it out of his eyes, also helping to prevent the the unruly bundle from sticking to the back of his neck, something he didn't need in the heat of this day. His pants were already clinging on to his legs with the kind of force that slowed him down, as it seemed to be doing to the rest of the team. Everybody seemed to be off kilter, and even Yamcha's aim was off as he pitched the first few balls. He allowed a huff of breath to escape as he pulled the cap further over his dark eyes, glancing back towards the dugout. And after a few more failed attempts at pitching, he called the team for a water break, insisting they all refresh themselves before struggling out there again.

Everybody jostled towards the dugout eagerly, making their way to a rather unsuspecting Yajirobe. He had fallen asleep after only the first ten minutes of this practice, knowing that Yamcha had hoped he could serve as some type of motivation. That was a rather stupid hope, though, considering that Yajirobe was basically the symbol of discouragement. Nevertheless, he was willing to give the overweight man a chance to prove himself a more ambitious man than he let on to be.

Yamcha was a little disappointed, though not entirely surprised, when he hustled into the underground area to find Yajirobe sprawled across a metal bench and sleeping. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, though, as some of the other men on the team had plopped down next to the lazy samurai, jolting his makeshift bed and awakening him. Yajirobe flinched and quickly opened his eyes which gained some coarse laughs from the other teammates. He lifted his head out of the empty box of jelly doughnuts Yamcha had bribed him to come with, some of the sticky residue clinging on to his wild mane of black hair. But he didn't even notice as he blinked, forgetting for a moment exactly where he was.

It was when he sat up, unsettled by the other men jeering at him, that he remembered where he was. He allowed his legs to dangle just off of the brown earth, his eyes focused so as to allow one smug Yamcha, leaning on a wooden baseball bat, to come into view. He snorted as Yamcha asked, "You enjoy your little nap, Yajirobe?"

The samurai only licked his sugary lips and allowed his fists to fall into his lap, his teeth clenched as a tall man laughed, "You were right, Yamcha! This guy's a complete loser!" And as Yajirobe leered up at who he had once considered his friend, Yamcha flushed slightly, feeling guilty for having said that once. To remedy the awkwardness of the situation, he picked up a water bottle from the cooler and chugged it, leaning against his baseball bat for support.

"I'm not a loser," Yajirobe grunted indignantly, though his case was not looking good. He had just been awoken by a bunch of confident men that had found him with his head laid down in an empty box that had once contained jelly doughnuts. If that wasn't the mark of a loser, one couldn't be certain of what a loser was, exactly.

There were a few more chuckles as the man further challenged, "Well, if you're not a loser, why don't you show us a few of your moves?" He stole the supporting baseball bat from underneath Yamcha, causing him to fall forth and splash cold water all down the front of his yellow jersey. Yamcha clenched his teeth angrily, though nobody even noticed as they focused on the chubby man in his traditional swordsman outfit, looking rather out of place. "Can you swing a bat, fatso?"

"I don't think he can even budge!"

"Let's see him get off of this bench!"

Yajirobe narrowed his eyes at these ridicules, sliding off of the bench to a round of faked cries of astonishment. But he trudged past them with determination, the baseball bat swung over his shoulders. He and everybody else ignored Yamcha as he protested, "Guys, let's just get back to practicing..." His voice was lost in the drone of the small crowd, losing the chance to redeem himself. He felt that, even if he wasn't really Yajirobe's friend, he shouldn't have referred to him as a loser to his team mates. And he didn't really want the samurai to be humiliated now, as guilty as the baseball player felt, seeing as Yamcha highly doubted that he had even seen a game of baseball played.

By the time the abashed Yamcha was able to drag himself out of the dugout, he saw Yajirobe standing on the batter's base, holding the bat out in a surprisingly expert manner. One of his teammates were acting a pitcher, the backup pitcher. He folded his arms and watched with interest as he saw the determination on Yajirobe's face, his black hair flying with the wind of the day. His eyes were squinted with the sunlight, but that didn't seem to even faze him.

"I'd like to see you handle this one!" the pitcher cackled, a shorter man though surprisingly strong. And Yamcha watched as the fast ball sped through the air, making a beeline straight towards the warrior. But Yamcha's jaw dropped as the bat made direct contact with the leather ball, a splintering crack resounding through the stadium. And Yajirobe wasn't even shocked in the slightest, simply stepping back and cupping a hand over his eyes to follow the ball out of the park.

The whole team winced, having not expected this in the slightest. And as soon as the ball was outside Yajirobe's field of view, he dropped the bat on the dirt and clapped his hand together, shaking off any dirt. Then he shuffled his way off of the field, going through a gate and hopping into his hovercraft. Yamcha only blinked a few times before breaking out into a run, the spikes on the bottom of his shoes gaining traction and allowing him enough force to get by Yajirobe's side before he could fly off.

Breathlessly from the heat of the day, a hand clamped on the car door, Yamcha asked, "Where in Kami's name did you learn to bat like that, Yajirobe? That was... that was incredible!"

And Yajirobe only placed his hands on the steering wheel, mumbling, "It's called not being a loser." Then he sped off with his foot pressed on the gas pedal, forcing an astounded Yamcha to simply stare at the retreating vehicle, never to learn that he had simply used the same technique he used with his katana to cut off the head of an enemy. Yamcha pulled the hat off of his head as the rest of the team caught up with him, asking about recruiting the fellow, asking about apologizing for the mean things they had said. But Yamcha ignored them, knowing that Yajirobe was right in the respect that he was not a loser.


	7. The Cold

**Ever wondered where Yajirobe's moustache came from? Well, as much as I dislike that upperlip hair, I decided that it needed its own story. So here's the extremely short one-shot that will hopefully answer just that question.  
**

**Problem Seven: The Cold**

The blubbery bits latched on to Yajirobe's chest jiggled as the poor samurai shivered, even when nestled within folds of blankets. It was wintertime and, at such a high altitude, the temperature of Korin Tower was settling somewhere just below freezing. The thin air also did nothing to put the swordsman in better spirits, as he found himself to suffocate if he threw too many layers of bedding on top of him. So Yajirobe simply laid pitifully on his side, resting on his hard cot with his thick, red scarf over his frozen face.

He managed to glance towards Korin after sneaking a peek over his scarf, and he didn't particularly like what he saw. Korin was sitting on his bed without a care in the world, preening himself with a few licks to his front paw. He only had a blanket over his lap to protect himself against the cold, and he looked positively untouched by the drafts that would sneak in through the front door. In fact, he only shifted from time to time when he became uncomfortable staying in the same position for almost half an hour at a time.

Yajirobe finally couldn't stand just watching the white cat, and so he finally asked in a voice muffled by the scarf over his mouth, "Why aren't you cold?" Korin lilted his head upwards as he heard this grunting, surprised by the random question.

"It's called fur," he bluntly replied before raising his paw back up to his scratchy tongue. Korin couldn't believe that he had to ask such a ridiculous question when the answer was quite obvious. But his brow only raised as he noticed the samurai's eyes narrow defensively, the man's pudgy hand pulling the covers more tightly around his pathetically fat body.

"I knew that."

And the room was silent once more, save for the sound of sandpaper licks against Korin's matted fur. And as he preened himself, he couldn't help but keep a curious eye on Yajirobe, who was staring off into space as though in a stupor. No, it clearly wasn't him staring off into space with thought, Korin suppressed a chuckle, because never had a day passed with a thought passing through the dense swordsman's head. He was only a mindless shell with enough room inside to fit food for ten villages.

But there was still something that caught Korin off-guard. It was the way that those dark eyes hiding underneath piles of thick blankets were furrowed, as though maybe something besides what he would eat for dinner was passing through the hollow space between his two ears. And Korin was only shocked further, a jolt passing through his skittish body, as Yajirobe abruptly sat up.

The man pulled his blankets around him more tightly, an involuntary jiggle of fat around his neck not making the determination in his eyes any less threatening. He looked Korin straight in the eyes and, with his scarf pulled away from his face, announced, "I'm going to grow out a coat."

This further surprised Korin. "A coat? Like... a beard?" He placed a damp paw back in his lap, staring at his companion warily. But Yajirobe's hardened gaze was unrelenting as he nodded, his lips pressed together as though to supress the cold. And that, that seriousness on the samurai's face, only had the cat burst out into incredulous laughter.

"Yajirobe!" he bellowed, his voice raspy as he allowed his head to lilt with his dark chuckling. "There's no way that you're going to grow out a beard! You have the face of a fat baby; I doubt you'll be able to grow so much as a few whiskers on your upper lip! I mean, come on, do you even shave?"

"Yeah," Yajirobe huffed indignantly, and had it not been so cold, his face would have reddened with embarrassment. But as it was, his face retained its pale palate as he argued, "I bet that if I don't shave in a few months, I'll have a beard as bushy as Master Roshi's!"

His chest was puffed out now as he glared at the white cat, his pride so wounded that he ignored the cold wind beating against his bare, chubby cheeks. At first, Korin couldn't be certain of whether or not he was serious. It was ridiculous to think of Yajirobe with facial hair, let alone with a trailing beard. But his slowly came to realize that he was indeed serious, and that Yajirobe was crazier, and stupider, than even he had thought. He regarded those puffed cheeks carefully and the anger glinting in those dark eyes and finally, Korin felt another snicker sneak out of his mouth.

"You wanna bet?" Korin immediately challenged, a smile lighting up on his wicked face.

"Yeah!"

Yajirobe's large, hammy fists were clenched in anticipation to show Korin just who was the human and just who was the pet. He would finally best Korin at something, and during the next winter that rolled around, he would be sitting in his cot all warm and cozy with his facial hair protecting his face. He would beat the cold and, more importantly, he would beat Korin.

But when the next winter rolled around, Yajirobe was found shivering under his covers, a sparse moustache across his lip and a laughing Korin all to show for his efforts.


	8. Bald Men

**It's a bit longer than these one-shots typically are, though I hope you enjoy! Master Roshi really does use Eau d'Orange in Dragon Ball, but instead of using it to impress an android girlfriend, he uses it to cover up his scent when Goku's trying to smell out whether Jackie Chun is the older master or not. Krillin's a little mean in this, though I've always thought of Krillin as having a bit of an edgy spirit, and he never seems to turn down the opportunity to pick on a certain fat swordsman.  
**

**Problem Eight: Bald Men**

"Hey, look, I'm Yajirobe!"

On the other side of the conservatory filled with a variety of flora and fauna located in the heart of Capsule Corp., a certain bald man had his face squished together by placing his hands on either cheek, purposely making his features rather flabby and malformed. And the real Yajirobe could only glare, glowering on the other side and trying to ignore Krillin. But he couldn't keep his ears from picking up the imposter's impersonation as he continued, making his voice huskier, "I'm Yajirobe, and I'm going to turn against all of my friends to save my own hide!"

There were a few scattered rounds of laughter, everybody knowing that Krillin's impression of the fat man was as true as the sun was bright. But even they had gotten tired of this joke, as Krillin found the need to bring up his cowardliness every time Bulma held a get-together for all of the Z Fighters and their families.

Yajirobe ignored his banter in hopes that the bald man would find somebody else to pick on, but to no surprise, there was nobody else that Krillin found himself able to pick on. Most of the bald man's friends were stronger than him and thus would likely take the liberty to beat him up, teaching him to never make fools of them again. And Krillin would normally have felt fine with making jokes about Goku, his one friend that he was certain wouldn't take out his anger on him, but Goku was dead. And even Krillin had boundaries set, deciding that making fun of the deceased was one of them. So the bald man contented himself by making fun of one man he knew couldn't retaliate, and that was Yajirobe.

Yajirobe growled, placing his hand carefully on the hilt of his katana as Krillin began again, "I'm Yajirobe, and I love Vegeta! 'Can I join your side, Mr. Vegeta? Can I brush your tail? Can I kiss your feet? Can-" But before Yajirobe could storm across the large room and lash out at him, Krillin stifled his words. In came the Prince of Saiyans through one of the many doors, and though he seemed to be considerably less dangerous after those matters with the Cell Games, Krillin still didn't want to be the one to incite his wrath. And so Yajirobe withdrew himself to the corner once more, watching Vegeta as he strode across the room and towards the large buffet table, set up with enough food for several Saiyans to get their fill on.

But even the prince's arrival wasn't enough to keep that jabbermouth from going on, and Yajirobe flinched as Krillin started with jokes about him, actually getting Yamcha to laugh. "Hey, how many Yajirobes does it take to screw in a light bulb? Doesn't matter 'cause it's impossible! That would actually require effort!" Some hearty chuckles resounded from the two of them, Yajirobe's disliking the two of them immensely at that moment. "Yajirobe eats so much that we're still all waiting for him to go Super Saiyan!"

And he only folded his flabby arms together indignantly and turned away, suppressing his rage. He was surprised, after having blocked out all sounds of Krillin's annoying jabs for the past few minutes, to hear a raspy voice growl, "You pathetic fool!" Yajirobe turned around, stunned to find the midget Saiyan whose tail he had cut off so long ago standing just before him, his arms also crossed irritably. He stood in his Saiyan armor, his signature scowl on his face as he said, "Have you no pride? I can hear Cueball over there discussing matters concerning yourself, and you lack the dignity to end such talk?"

In all honesty, Yajirobe was a coward, though he called it being smart enough to stay out of trouble. He didn't really want to stand up to Krillin, not when he knew that even that runt could beat him up after having not trained in years. But Krillin didn't scare him at all compared to this enormous force packed into a tiny package standing just before him, leering at him dangerously. Yajirobe backed away as the Saiyan Prince stepped forth threateningly, a gloved fist held in the air as he continued, "If you don't show him just what you're made of, I'm going to show you exactly what I'm made of." And such a challenge was not to be taken lightly, not when it was coming from Vegeta. It was through clenched teeth that the prince asked, "What are you going to do to that filthy cretin?"

Yajirobe mumbled incoherently about how he was going to insult him, though that did not satisfy the rather picky Vegeta. It went so far as to earn a grab by the chest at the prince's hand as he attempted to shake Yajirobe to his senses, repeating with his canine teeth bared menacingly, "What are you going to do to him? You're going to beat him, aren't you?" But before Yajirobe could even reply to this, Vegeta lowered the fat samurai back to his feet, muttering to himself, "No, you're too weak to take him on physically." Then with his voice projected once more, he barked, "What are you better than him at? What do you have that he lacks?"

Now that was a good question, Yajirobe thought. At that moment, it seemed as though Krillin had everything. He was strong, he had a girlfriend, and he sure as heck had a lot more friends than the samurai did, not counting that terrible, white cat back at Korin Tower. He was very short, but admittedly, Yajirobe wasn't the tallest man around either. So he could only contemplate over such a thing, feeling all the more like a loser as he regained balance on his feet. And he didn't feel any better, not with the Saiyan looming over him, making him incredibly nervous. Yajirobe could hardly think, not even able to imagine just why this man was trying to help him.

But Vegeta had his own reasons for helping this poor fool. If he couldn't regain his own pride after having been beaten out by Kakarot's brat in taking down Cell, he could at least live through others, going so far as to help them. Vegeta's idea of help, however, wasn't as kind as that of most people's. No, he pulled Yajirobe back closer to his sharp nose, waiting for ideas of exactly how Yajirobe was indeed better than Cueball to flood his brilliant mind. But there were no such ideas as he growled, realizing that Yajirobe wasn't the best specimen to work with, and Vegeta already had great difficulty in seeing people for their best qualities.

An idea, however, formed in his mind. As opposed to Yajirobe's blank mind trying to get the imbecile along with the basics of breath and food and water, Vegeta's mind was always calculating. And he realized that in order to win this, he would have to think another way. Instead of trying to think of exactly how Yajirobe was better, he had to think of how Krillin was worse. And Vegeta was an expert in this kind of thing.

"You don't have any redeeming qualities, you filthy scum," Vegeta said, and though his words didn't show it, his voice had softened a little. He released Yajirobe from his grip, taking the liberty to point in Krillin's direction in a conspicuous manner so as to draw the bald man's attention. Both Krillin and Yamcha stared at the odd pair in confusion as Vegeta whispered, his voice regaining its graininess, "There's nothing that you're better than him at, but instead of building up that inexistent ego of yours, simply bring his down. It shouldn't be hard, considering he's bald and has no nose."

Yajirobe only blinked as Vegeta pushed him in the direction of the two expectant men, adding with a hiss, "Teach him which of you two is of a higher class."

So Yajirobe gulped a little as he approached Krillin, feeling the Saiyan's watching eyes upon his sweaty back. But as he approached the man whom Vegeta had so blatantly pointed out, he couldn't help but get that throb in his gut that told him this would not end well. It had never been difficult for Yajirobe to see faults in others - a trait that both he and Vegeta seemed to share - but he didn't know if, after all of these years of being so passive about the bald man's insults, he'd be able to finally stand up for himself. Of course, standing up for himself would most definitely be better than the alternative of Vegeta beating the living pulp out of him, and so with no choice, he picked up his pace.

Krillin noticed how the samurai's sluggish crawl transformed into a more powerful stride, with his chubby fists swinging by his sides. And with only one glance back towards the threatening Saiyan, Yajirobe faced him and growled darkly, "You shouldn't talk about me like that." As confused as he was at the moment, Vegeta seemed to have succeeded in pushing him to truly believe that this was his time to put a foot in this matter.

Yamcha stifled his response as he eyed the spectating Vegeta, but Krillin found a lopsided grin on his face as he realized just why Yajirobe had approached the pair of them. "It's not like I'm lying," Krillin replied, placing a hand on his hip and the other in the air for emphasis. He leaned forward smugly and gave an impertinent scoff. "Everybody knows that you're a coward, and I'm surprised that you even decided to come and face me. In fact, I'm surprised you were even close enough to hear me. The snack bar's on the other side of the room, y'know."

The samurai's face reddened, and he pursed his lips together before blurting out, "I couldn't see it with your shiny head in the way!" This caught Krillin off-guard, and the man stepped back upon hearing the sudden outburst.

Yamcha knew this wouldn't fare well for either party, so in an attempt to break up the situation, he held out his hands and said, "Hey, guys, let's not argue about th-"

"My shiny head?" Krillin asked incredulously, baring his teeth before lashing out. "I waxed it just a few nights ago, you dope! It just proves that at least I take care of myself and don't look like I haven't bathed in weeks."

"At least I don't smell like it," Yajirobe retorted. "But you don't have a nose to smell how you stink worse than your sense of humor! What is that stuff? Skunk Perfume?

"It's Eau d'Orange!" the noseless man said, this time a bit defensively. He stepped back again and lifted his arm, giving it a small whiff before glaring at Yajirobe again. "Master Roshi gave it to me, and my girlfriend, something that you don't have and never will have, just happens to love it!"

Yajirobe sneered and said, "I'm sorry that I have enough class not to ask a garbage can out on a date." And he folded his flabby arms, turning his tiny nose to the air as Krillin stared at him, lost for words.

"She... she's not a garbage can!" he stuttered, unable to believe that anybody would describe his Eighteen in such an undignified way. "And you're trying to tell me about class? You're the one that happens to live with a cat who probably uses a litter box! And, from all I know, you're probably not toilet-trained either!"

This set Yajirobe off, and before Yamcha could stop him, he had lunged forth towards Krillin and yelled, "Your head's gonna be toilet-trained after I'm through with you!" He grabbed the short man violently by his arms, shaking all of the arrogance out of his being. But it was only a matter of seconds before Krillin pulled himself from the samurai's grip and staggered backwards, the surprise in his eyes reflected in Yamcha's. He hadn't expected a physical assault, and he held his arms up protectively in case of another attack, though Yajirobe stayed back.

The immature child in still in Krillin urged to fight back, though he decided to withdraw from the situation and simply said, "You're lucky I'm wearing my nicest shirt today. I'd fight, but Eighteen would kill me." Then he stalked off, Yamcha following in an attempt to escape the mad swordsman.

Yajirobe, however, wasn't through. With a hand cupped to his mouth, he called, "At least I'm my own boss and not dumb enough to listen to a woman!" And he pouted as he watched Krillin walk towards the snack bar, though he was most definitely satisfied with the results. He felt assured that Krillin wouldn't try picking on him again, or at least not for a while.

And so he turned around, curious as to whether Vegeta would pound his face in as promised if he didn't handle the situation correctly. But the Saiyan warrior wasn't there. Instead, there was an irritated Bulma with her arms folded across her chest hovered over him, glaring down at him with a look of pure fury contorting her usually pretty facial features.

"Not dumb enough to do _what?_"


End file.
